Mere Memory
by tom-marvolo-riddle-mcmxxvi
Summary: What if Voldemort didn't survive and escape Godric's Hollow the night he murdered Harry's parents- at least, not the way you think? And what if Harry figured out he was a wizard years before he received his acceptance letter- and he's beginning to remember things that haven't happened yet? An AU that follows the basic model of the books but with more than a few twists. Slow moving.
1. Chapter 1

**Summary**: Harry Potter AU based on this premise: What if Voldemort _didn't_ survive and escape Godric's Hollow the night he murdered Harry's parents- at least, not the way you think? And what if Harry figured out he was a wizard _years_ before he received his acceptance letter? An AU fic that follows the basic model of the books but with more than a few twists. In which Dumbledore is plotting, Harry's seeing things that haven't happened yet, there are ghosts everywhere and Voldemort will take over the wizarding world if he has to destroy himself to do it. Very slow moving.

**Rating**: T, I suppose. Some violence and some language, but nothing too explicit.

**Disclaimer**: I do not own the Harry Potter series or any related merchandise, all is the property of one J.K. Rowling. All I own is this fan-made story, and I'm not making any profit off of it.

**AN**: To clarify, yes, this is an AU… of sorts. This story takes place in the same universe as HP, but I've changed around a few of the major elements to suit my liking and I'm moving forward from there. Hopefully this won't be too confusing to read, and hopefully it won't all blow up in my face in the end. XD One thing I'd like to add: I have changed things for the purpose of this fic. These changes stem from large plot points to tiny little details. One thing that I _know_ I am going to get complaints about is Harry' appearance. Now, in this fic Harry still has his scar, and he still greatly resembles his father, but he no longer wears glasses, and I have changed his eye color. There is a reason for this, and it will become clear through time. So don't freak out.

I hope you all enjoy it, and I would like to offer about a million and one thanks to my beta, Sarah, who was kind enough to read this whole thing and provide feedback and just generally put up with me and my crap. Well, if that's all, off we go.

**Chapter One**

The first dream came when Harry was only nine years old. One moment he had been lying in his cupboard, curled into a ball on the dusty mattress and marveling that he could hear Dudley's snoring even through two closed doors and a flight of stairs, and then he was standing with his back pressed against the wall in a long, shadowy hallway.

Shadowy was the correct word- there was an odd, fuzzy quality to the images around him, like a black-and-white movie where the film had faded with time, and the darkness was swirling like smoke around his body and climbing the walls. It was all too strange and frightening to be real. The curves and swells of the walls and the peeling brown-and-grey striped paper that covered them could be seen by a light streaming in from the end of the hall. Harry, after a moment's pause, began heading towards the source of the light. He was moving very slowly, stepping on the pads on his feet so as to make as little sound as possible. His whole body was tense, with something that might have been fear, or maybe anticipation. As he came closer, the patch of light formed itself into an open doorway. He could see a fireplace burning with in the room, an old decrepit couch, and the back of a man's head through the opening. He heard the sound of voices, too faint to make out any words, and a short laugh. Something in his stomach twisted at the noise.

He was still walking forward, though his feet were surely not taking directions from his brain. He was aware of something clenched in his hand, a stick of some sort, but he couldn't stop to think about it. His breath began coming faster as he crept closer, closer, straining to make something out. The man laughed again, louder than before, and a woman's voice rose in answer. "Now now, be _serious_ Tom-"

Harry awoke with a gasp, finding that he had sweated through his sheets and that Aunt Petunia was rapping furiously on his door, screeching for him to _get up_ already. His head was pounding and the scar on his forehead stung, but luckily that faded after a few minutes.

The dream hadn't been particularly special, or even interesting, but it still stuck with Harry, and he found himself still thinking about it later that day. Something about it made it seem so vivid, so much more real than any other dream he'd ever had. But it couldn't have been real, not unless he could sleepwalk through a door with a lock on it.

The dream had not made much sense once he thought about it, but then, dreams usually didn't, and soon enough Harry had forgotten about it. There were far more important things to worry about, such as finding ways to avoid Dudley and his very active fists, especially when school was out and Dudley had a constant bad mood from the heat. Or, even if he managed that, how to de-weed the garden and clean the house without doing _something_ to earn a reprimand at screaming-level from Aunt Petunia, which was at least twice as difficult. By that night, he had put the dream it entirely out of his mind.

So Harry was caught by surprise when it returned the very next night. Same as before, he could not remember falling asleep, or even being drowsy. He had laid down on the mattress, and what felt like less than a second later he was back in the hallway, watching the fire's light flutter across the carpet like dancers twirling on a darkened stage. He stood not at the end of the hall this time, but just outside the doorway. He had the same view of the fire, the mold-stained couch, and a seated man from behind, but this time he did not move. He was frozen in place, pressed as tightly against the wall as he could be without fusing into it.

The woman's voice came far clearer than before. Her voice was low and strained, like she was speaking around something lodged in her throat. "So how is the lovely Miss Weston doing, Tom? Come on, let's hear it. Don't spare any details."

A man's laugh, oddly high-pitched and familiar. "Well, I hate to disappoint you, mother, but there's not much to tell. She is well, she said, and she certainly seemed pleased to see me."

"Oh, and why wouldn't she be, dear?" The words sounded affectionate but her tone was distant and cold. "And did she say anything about…?"

"She told me she would be interested in… 'furthering our acquaintance'… but not much beyond that, no."

A snort, from a third speaker. "You should consider yourself lucky she's said that much. Considering what happened the last time you two saw one another, I wouldn't have been surprised if she'd thrown you out the moment you said 'good day'."

"That's quite enough!" the woman's voice cut in sharply. "Thomas, dear, I thought we agreed not to speak of that."

"It's alright, mother. Father's right, it's a miracle that Cecilia has forgiven me at all, much less consider spending time with me again. I'm just grateful that she has. It was a horrendous mistake that I made, and I won't let it ruin what we have."

"So you haven't heard from _her_ then?" The flames in the fireplace were dwindling, casting shadows around the room, but none of its occupants noticed.

"Goodness, no. It's been years now, hasn't it? She might even be dead by now. She was a _wreck_ when I left her, let me tell you. I remember she kept screaming about how I couldn't leave her, it was my duty to stay with her… bloody madwoman. I still don't know what kind of… _trickery_ she pulled on me to make me run off with her." Harry saw him shift slightly in his seat, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand. There were several rings on his fingers. "It doesn't matter, I suppose. She's probably lying off in some gutter somewhere, like that rotten brother of hers."

Harry was aware that he was shaking, and that it was taking all of his control not to run into the room and… what? What did he want to do? The stick, rod, whatever it was in his hand trembled along with him.

"He doesn't still live there, does he? In that house?"

"Who knows? No one's bothered to check it out since the old tramp passed, did they? "

"It he doesn't, we ought to have it cleared away, finally. It always was such an eyesore, and they wouldn't move no matter how much they were asked… It's nice to be rid of them, I say."

The woman's voice interrupted, finally. "I've heard quite enough about the Gaunts, thank you." There was a rustle of fabric that might have been her shifting in her seat. "You said yourself that we shouldn't let the mistakes of the past taint the future; please, let's not speak of them. Come on, Tom, you haven't told us nearly enough about your night with Cecilia."

Once more, a laugh. "I _did_ tell you, mother. We talked, that's all. Unless you'd like a detailed description of the cloud patterns we saw on our walk?"

"Now now, be _serious_ Tom…"

Harry awoke, with a jerk, staring blankly up at the low ceiling and trying to calm his pounding heart. The seats were tangled around his legs like chains and he quickly kicked them off. He reached up to brush his sweaty hair away from his scar, rubbing his thumb absentmindedly along the cut.

He had no idea what the things he had seen and heard meant. Indeed, he hadn't understood most of what was being _said_ in the dream, only that these people, whoever they were, did not seem very kind. But what stunned him was how angry it made him. Something about those people- _Tom_, he'd heard _Tom,_ and his parents- and the cruel things they'd said had made him so furious his hands were clenched into fists even as the emotion faded along with the dream. He still didn't know where it came from. Usually Harry dreamed about far more incredible and interesting things, like a flying motorbike.

But, as always, there was no time for him to think on it. The knock on his door came as expected, and he opened the door and half-stepped, half-crawled out to meet Aunt Petunia's scowling face.

"About time. Now go fix the eggs before your Uncle wakes up. He's got an important meeting today and I don't want him to be stressed."

Harry nodded and stepped in the kitchen, almost stumbling over the doorstep. He'd known how to cook eggs since he was about five, and waking up to orders like these wasn't a surprise. Today, however, he still felt ill from the dream, and had to cook while his head was pounding. He nearly set fire to his hand as he turned on the stove, and promptly dropped the pan in a sticky brown coffee puddle on the floor.

Dudley was already seated in the kitchen when he entered, stuffing a piece of toast in his mouth with his eyes fixed on a handheld video game. Harry watched him out of the corner of his eye. He had been noticing more and more as he got older that he and Dudley didn't look very much alike at all, considering that they were cousins. Dudley, like his father, had canary-blond hair and small like blue eyes that were set too close together. His mouth was as wide and his face was the dull pink of an overripe peach. Harry, on the other hand, was taller and skinner, with cloudy pale eyes like Aunt Petunia, though his were grey and hers were tinted green. His hair was dark and wavy and curled slightly around his forehead, doing a very poor job of hiding his one unique trait- a scar in the shape of a lightning bolt, etched into his skin.

The one time he had asked about it, Aunt Petunia had said he must have gotten it in the car crash that killed his parents before quickly changing the subject. Harry wasn't sure he believed that story. How did a car crash result in a scar that oddly shaped, and only on his forehead? And why, when he tried to remember that did, did he see some sort of green light flashing at him? He had no idea where that could have come from. He never bothered asking, however, knowing that he'd just be told to "stop asking stupid questions". He'd realized a long time ago that "don't ask stupid questions" meant "stop asking me questions I don't want to answer or I'll make you pay for it" and he wisely learned to keep his mouth shut.

Harry assumed that since he obviously didn't take after this part of the family, he must look like his parents. But he didn't know for sure, as he had never even seen a picture of them. Most of the pictures in the house were of Dudley. Harry didn't know why his aunt and uncle kept so my pictures of their son around. It wasn't as if there was any kind of lack of Dudley in their lives. No, Dudley was always the center of attention, just the way he liked it.

The boy in question had caught Harry staring at him. "Get on wif' it!" he said with a full mouth, gesturing towards the stove with one pudgy hand. " 'M hungry!" A jaundice-yellow smear of butter dripped down his chin.

Harry gave him a sour look but did not reply, turning to dig the eggs out of the fridge. The pain in his head had begun to fade for a moment, but Dudley's squeaky whine brought it back full-force.

Dudley pulled himself out of his chair, which looked like it took more effort than it should have, and all but skipped over to Harry. "You know it's my birthday next week."

"Yes, I know." He'd mentioned it about fifty times in the past month.

"I'm turning ten, you know."

Harry could think of a million things to say to that but focused instead on the eggs; cracking a few and watching them sizzle in the pan. He purposely did not look at Dudley.

"Mummy and Daddy said we're gonna go to a theme park for the day. Us, you know. Not you."

Ah, so that was glanced back at him, face blank. He had to tilt his head up slightly to look Dudley in the eyes, a fact he hated. "Alright."

That had not been the reaction Dudley was expecting. "Alright? What do you mean alright? Don't you care?"

"No."

"But- but you're gonna stay here. _Alone_."

Harry shrugged. "I doubt I'll be alone. They'll probably get Mrs. Figg to watch me." He held in a sigh at the thought. Mrs. Figg wasn't half as unpleasant as the Dursleys, but Harry had a feeling she was getting a bit… old, for a lack of a better word. She didn't always seem entirely aware of what was happening around her, and every time she visited she insisted on telling him all about each and every cat she'd ever owned, regardless of how many times he'd heard about them before. Every time he pointed this out to her she'd just look at him for a few seconds, blinking repeatedly as if there was something in her eyes, and then continue on as if she hadn't been interrupted. "That's what they usually do, anyway…"

"You know that's not what I meant!"

Harry ignored him. "Do you want some eggs on toast or no?"

Dudley scowled, his mouth curling down and seeming to sink into his chin. "…No. By itself." He watched Harry for a moment. "Don't you care? I remember you got upset when you were alone that one time…"

Harry felt his face flush. That had been several years ago, the first of Dudley's birthdays that either of them could really remember, not that Harry really wanted to. Thinking back, it should have been obvious that Harry wasn't going to be included in Dudley's birthday; that he was just going to stay with Mrs. Figg for a few hours he always did when the Dursleys didn't want him around for whatever reason. But somehow he hadn't picked up on it, not until an hour before the event began when his Aunt and Uncle ordered him to clear out and laughed at his bewildered question about wasn't he going to come, too? His real mistake had been actually trying to complain, almost pleading at one point for them to let him go if he wouldn't be any trouble. It hadn't gone over well. He'd never seen Uncle Vernon's face turn that state of purple before. He had looked rather like a radish with a thinning mustache."That was ages ago, 'course I don't care. Hand me a plate."

Dudley shoved one at him. "You're lying." Harry scooped some eggs onto the plate and handed it to him. He noticed a few toast crumbs still stuck to his face but chose not to mention it.

"Believe what you want." Harry turned back to the stove and jumped when something wet slammed into the back of his head. He wiped around, a hand up to his hair and found Dudley laughing helplessly, his plate now empty. "What was that for?!"

Dudley didn't seem able to speak through his laugher, his stomach vibrating with effort. "Egghead… get it, Harry, you're an egghead…."

Whether it was the fried egg dripping down his collar or the bad joke, Harry felt something is the back of his mind sort of- crack, give way and a hot, angry river poured out, rushing faster than the blood in his veins. He moved forward a few steps, his mouth opening to say something that he knew he'd regret later- when Dudley was suddenly _thrown, _flung off his feet and across the room like a bird taking flight. He slammed roughly into the kitchen table and his round head bounced on the tiled floor. He didn't move, and for one horrible moment Harry thought he was dead. But then the boy sat up, his hair in disarray, looking around in bewilderment. There was a scrape across his ear, dripping blood onto the floor, and Harry felt a twinge of annoyance that Aunt Petunia was going to make him clean that up. "Ow- what-" Dudley babbled, his beady eyes landing accusingly on Harry, still frozen by the stove. Without warning Dudley's face screwed up and reddened until he looked like oversized Christmas ornament. "Mummy! Harry pushed me!"

"_What_?" With a sinking heart, Harry recognized his Uncle's voice, followed by thundering footsteps on the stairs. He quickly moved away from the door and narrowly missed being hit with it when his Aunt and Uncle burst in, immediately rushing to Dudley's side. Aunt Petunia threw her arms around him and began fussing over him.

"Dudley darling, are you alright? What did that awful boy do to you?" She glared at Harry suspiciously over Dudley's head.

"He pushed me into the table. I didn't even _do_ anything," Dudley's voice cracked in all the right places but he was smirking at Harry through the circle of his mother's arms. Neither of his parents seemed to notice.

"Is that so," Uncle Vernon noted, his eyes glinting dangerously. Deciding it wasn't worth trying to explain, Harry made a dash for the door. Uncle Vernon caught him before he'd taken more than a step and yanked him back in by his collar. His face was stained scarlet and purple and he was still half-dressed, standing in a dress shirt and boxers with his hair uncombed. Somehow his sloppy appearance made him twice as terrifying. "What have we told you, boy? You lay one hand on Dudley and you'll be spending the next twenty years of your life in that cupboard!"

He knew it was no use, but Harry tried anyway. "I didn't push him, he just fell-"

Uncle Vernon shook him roughly, rattling Harry's teeth in his head. "Enough of that! Apologize to Dudley!"

"But-"

"_Apologize!_" He roared, making everyone jump.

Harry met Dudley's gaze, forcing back his fury. It was like swallowing bile. "I'm sorry."

Dudley grinned and stuck his tongue out.

"Are you sure you're not hurt, popkin?" Aunt Petunia asked, still looking panicked.

Dudley seemed to think deeply for a moment, though from what Harry knew of him that wasn't likely. "I think so… m' head still hurts a bit…"

"Oh, poor dear," she cooed, trying to get a good look at him. Uncle Vernon finally released his grip on Harry and walked over to his wife and child.

"Don't worry Petunia; Dudders is tougher than that, right son?"

Harry took advantage of their distraction to slip out the kitchen door unnoticed, before Uncle Vernon could impart a worse punishment on him. He hesitated by his cupboard door, but decided there was no point in trying to lie down and get rid of his headache when he'd just be ordered out again. Shoving on his shoes, he ran out onto the front lawn. He didn't dare take a step past the Dursley's driveway. Harry wrapped his arms around himself and shivered in the chilly morning air.

"Now what was that about?" He muttered to himself. It wasn't unusual for him to be blamed for things he didn't do, particularly when Dudley was involved, but usually Dudley _planned_ to get Harry is trouble. This hadn't been planned- it couldn't have been. The look of surprise and pain on Dudley's face when he'd hit the table hadn't looked fake, and he could never have jumped that far. But then what had happened? Harry hadn't shoved him, he knew he hadn't, he hadn't touched Dudley at all. But _something_ had pushed Dudley off his feet, just as Harry had gotten angry…

Harry found himself thinking back to the year before, when he had been running from Dudley and his gang only to find himself sitting on the room of their school building, far out of reach. Or the time Aunt Petunia had given him a haircut at home, tugging and snapping off some strands and she tried to find a way to cover up "that ugly scar", only to have it all grow back by the next morning. Or the time Dudley had been threatening to hit him with Mrs. Figg's cane during one of her visits, only to have it fly back and hit him in the eye. True, these things didn't _seem_ connected, but strange and lucky things did seem to happen to Harry quite often, particularly when he was in some kind of danger. Then again, he usually ended up in more trouble after the incidents than he would have been in to begin with.

Harry shifted and rubbed his arms against a sudden breeze, staring up into the grey slate of the sky. He didn't know what he was thinking, really. Those …incidents had been odd, but not enough to really need to be worrying about. What happened this day, as on all those other days, must have been luck, or a simple mistake. Maybe Dudley had tried to step away from Harry, and slipped on the floor. Or maybe Harry had pushed him without realizing it. He didn't feel well, he'd only woken up less than an hour ago, after a very bad night's sleep… yes, he was tired, he was ill, he wasn't thinking clearly...

_Bloody madwoman_, a voice from the past whispered, and Harry shivered, this time not from the cold.

He ought to go back inside and finish fixing breakfast before the Dursleys noticed he was gone, if they hadn't already. He knew that, but somehow couldn't bring himself to move. It was so peaceful and quiet out here, the kind of quiet he rarely every got, and even then it was in his cupboard, curled up in his mattress with his legs pulled up into his chest so that he would fit and the smell of dust constantly in his nose. He wanted to close his eyes and savor it.

Even as he thought of doing so, a movement in the grass caught his eye. He stopped to look at it, for a moment thinking that it was just the wind in the grass. Then he saw a gray shape curling and uncurling its body, like a feathered tassel waving in the wind… it was a snake, longer than his arm and just as thick. Its back was covered black and brown stripes, flat prison bars crossing from one side to the other. There were thinner stripes on its neck and jaw, and its eyes were gold. Harry peered at it with interest, but to be on the safe side, he took a step back closer towards the house. To his surprise the snake moved with him, sliding forward and turning its head. He stopped, and so did it. They stared at one another. Then, after a long moment, the snake slowly dipped its head, nose brushing the dirt, than lifted it again- a bow. Harry just frowned at it. It made no other movement before uncoiling itself and slithering away, across the Dursleys front yard and into the tangled hedges that divided their house from the one next door. As it went, it let out a long soft hiss, which Harry imagined for a moment sounded like his name.

He should have known then, as he watched it disappear into the greenery, that this was the point in his life where things were going to start changing. And that once they did, nothing was ever going to be the same for him again. But at that moment in time, Harry just thought that this may have been the most peculiar day of his life thus far, and he hadn't even eaten breakfast yet. The snake's tail vanished entirely, and Harry heard Aunt Petunia calling his name. With a sigh, he placed the animal and the strange events of the day so far out his mind. Hoping his so-called family would do the same, Harry walked back to the house.

**AN:** So that was chapter one. Thanks for reading, and leave a review if you like. Also, I'm from the states, and therefore most of the British lingo I'm using in this fic I got either from books or from some brief research online. If I use something incorrectly or if something sounds too American, please let me know!


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer**: I do not own the Harry Potter series or any related merchandise, all is the property  
of one J.K. Rowling. All I own is this fan-made story, and I'm not making any profit off of it.

**Chapter Two**

Harry tiptoed up the staircase, wincing every time a step creaked. He cast a glance at Mrs. Figg, snoring on the couch with a clear line of drool coming out of her mouth. The Dursleys had left him alone with her for Dudley's birthday, same as always, but this was the first time he could remember her not even making the _effort_ to watch him. She had all but collapsed onto the couch the moment the Dursleys were out the door, her eyes closed before her head hit the cushion. She answered his hesitant question about whether she wanted a drink with a wave of a hand, her numerous bracelets jangling in the place of a response. He had taken this as a no and sat down in Uncle Vernon's overstuffed armchair, turning on the telly to the home shopping channel. They watched in silence for a while, Harry not really watching the screen so much as the dust swirled on it, until he had finally glanced over to see her sprawled out on her side, asleep. She hadn't bothered to taken her hairnet or her coat off and her fingers grasped at the upholstery like a starfish's suckers clinging to a rock. She looked rather like Dudley when she slept, Harry thought. They had the same way off tossing themselves all over their space to take up every possible inch.

Not knowing what else to do, he thought he'd head upstairs and take a turn on Dudley's computer for once. A part of him that hadn't felt well-rested in days had been tempted to follow her lead instead. But this was the first time in months that he was alone, really _alone, _without the Dursleys there to interrupt him whenever he found a quiet moment. He wasn't about to let that go to waste.

A sudden bout of dizziness hit as Harry was halfway up the steps, and he stopped, eyes closing involuntarily. He nearly tumbled back down but quickly grasped the rail for balance. He pressed a hand up to his eyes, his head throbbing. He didn't know whether it was because he was tired or he was coming down with something, but he hoped it was the first- it wouldn't matter if he was dying, the Dursleys wouldn't care if he got sick. In that case, they'd probably throw a party. It had begun to feel as though whole suns where exploding in his skull, and he sucked in a few breaths, trying to push away the pain.

After a few minutes- or maybe longer, he didn't know- the feeling fled as quickly as it had come. Harry sighed in relief and straightened. He tried to keep walking and nearly fell a second time, his legs shaking and barely able to support their own weight. With a sigh of frustration, he sat for a moment, waiting for his body to settle down. It probably _was_ just tiredness, he told himself. The dreams hadn't let up at all; in fact, they seemed to be getting worse. He had never returned to the room with Tom and his parents after the second time, but his new dreams were more tangled and confusing than previous ones had been. There was no clear beginning or end, just images and fragments of thoughts. He would see a castle at night, turrets and towers outlined against the dark sky by starlight; a huge hall with four long tables stretching nearly from one wall to the other and lit by floating candles, not suspended by strings but actually _floating_ in midair; and the very night before, he had found himself in a bathroom of all things, with stone walls and cracked mirrors and at least half an inch of water covering the floor. There had been a girl there too, he remembered, some mousy-looking girl with glasses and her hair pulled back. It was rare that he saw people in his dreams, and even then never up close. He had seen that girl more than once though, and sometimes a blond boy with a pinched face who was constantly smirking. There were a few other reoccurring figures, but he never saw them as clearly.

Nothing bad ever happened in the dreams, and Harry wouldn't have minded if they didn't keep ending the same way, with him jerking awake, sweating and trembling and feeling like someone was beating his skull from the inside with a hammer. It had gotten so bad he had even thought about going to his aunt and uncle about it, but he knew that would be pointless.

Harry sighed and stood gingerly. He had no choice; he'd just have to deal with it on his own like always. The problem was, he had no idea what to do besides wait for the dreams to go away, and what good was that? He reached the landing at last and, opening his eyes, found himself face to face with the snake from before, scales shinning wetly in the florescent light.

He blinked at it stupidly for a moment, his brain somehow not able to connect the phrases "snake" and "in the house". It watched him calmly from where it was coiled on the ground, seemingly content with its resting place.

"Um." Harry's mind switched back into gear and he wondered how on earth one was meant to deal with a large and possibly deadly snake. "Er. Shoo." He waved his hands at it awkwardly.

It gave him look that quite clearly translated to "As if," and stayed put, actually lowering its head to rest on the fraying carpet.

"No, no, come on, don't get comfortable." Harry dropped to one knee, holding his hands up to fend off any sort of attack, if snakes did that, he honestly had no idea, _how _did a snake get in the house? "You need to go right now. Come on." He was ignored once again. "Look, they get mad at me for _spiders_ in the house. You need to go, now, before they come back and see you." He made the shooing motion again, reluctant to try and actually touch it.

The snake lifted its head again and raised itself up, arching its back like a cobra. Harry drew back instinctively, but the snake didn't strike, just slid forward, poking out a black tongue for an instant than pulling it back in. It stopped by Harry's foot, looking up at him expectantly. Harry realized that he was blocking the stairway. The snake was actually _listening_ to him. "Oh- sorry." He scooted to the side. The snake just looked at him, its eyes cold and sharp. Harry wondered if this was how the mice it hunted would feel when they were caught. He swallowed and pointed. "Come on, then. Down you go."

There was a pause before it obeyed again, all but gliding down the stairs. Harry followed behind, careful not to step on its tail. It made its way to the front door- and then kept going towards the kitchen, dark rings rocking like waves along its back as its body moved.

"Hey, wait a minute!" Harry shouted, wincing when he remembered Mrs. Figg was still asleep in the next room. "Stop! You can't go in there!" he whispered. He kept pace with it but still couldn't bring himself to just pick it up out of mixed fear and disgust. He tried stepping in its way, but it just zig-zagged around him, bumping his ankle with a scaly side. He recoiled. Frustrated, he raised his voice just a little. "I said _come back_!"

As the words left his mouth, he felt something in the back of his mind crack, a sensation that was both odd and familiar, and the snake flew back towards him like a puppet on strings. He jerked out of the way, slamming his back into the wall, and watched it tumble head over tail until it stopped and righted itself. It whipped its head back in forth in confusion before giving Harry a look that was almost reproachful. _What was that for?_

Harry blinked. That hadn't been in his head- someone had spoken in a soft, slippery tone. "Hello?" There was no answer besides Mrs. Figg's steady, measured snores. "Is anyone there?" He looked back at the snake, bewildered. Its eyes gleamed and its tongue slid out and back in. It let out a whistling noise that was almost like a- yes, it was a laugh. Harry's heart jumped into his throat. "That…. Was that you?"

The snake's only reply was a hiss- but it wasn't a hiss, there were words, murmured under its breath. _"Who elssse could it be?"_

Harry gaped at it, unmoving. With another chuckle, the snake glided back across the floor towards him. Its head slid over his foot and Harry flinched, but did not pull away. Encouraged, it kept climbing, winding itself around his calf like a muscled grey rope and pressing its head against the back of his hand, not pushing, just resting there._"I won't hurt you. I just wanted to talk."_

Harry touched the scales on its neck curiously, sliding a finger along one thick stripe. Its skin was cold and smooth, but not slimy like he had expected. "Talk?"

"_Yesssss_," the sound dragged on longer than it sound have. "_That surprises you_?"

"Well, yeah, snakes don't usually talk."

_"How do you know that? Have you ever asked one?"_

"Well, no, but I-"

_"I thought ssso,"_ the snake hummed, winding itself leisurely around his wrist. _"If you had you would have said something the first time we met…"_

Harry blinked in surprise. "So that _was_ you? Last time?"

It dipped its head in a nod. _"I'm glad you didn't try to run away or scream. That's what most of you do… you panic and try to chase usssss off… and hit ussss with things. Or,"_ its tone suddenly darkened, _"You try to throw ussss around like toys."_ At this it gave Harry a meaningful look.

Harry frowned. _"_What, you mean… a second ago? But I didn't do that, I…"

_"Didn't you?"_

"I didn't even touch you!"

_"You didn't have to."_ It drew back and met his gaze. Its pupils were huge, surrounded by a very thin ring of yellow like a solar eclipse. Looking into them gave Harry of the feeling of falling. _"Don't you know?"_

_"_Know what?"

_"You don't? It'ssss not that hard to figure it out, you know..." _It shook its head mockingly._ "And I thought you were ssssmart…"_

Harry ignored that. He had the feeling he was on the verge of discovering something very important. "Figure what out?"

"_That you're… different. That you aren't like the rest of _them_."_ Its tone left no confusion as to who 'them' was. "_You can do things they can't, see things they don't, whether you've realized it yet or not. It's a rare human who can speak to me, young master..."_ Harry frowned at the title but did not protest. _"Can you truly not see it…? I knew from the moment I saw you…"_

Harry shook his head slowly. "No, there… there must be some mistake. I mean, I'm just, you know, me." Even as he denied it, he could feel an ember of hope sparking at the words. '_Different_', it had said…

_"Haven't you ever made thingsss happen? Thingssss that can't have happened… shouldn't have happened… but did, because you willed them… you willed them and made them ssso... Think."_

Harry didn't have to think very hard to remember the sensation of egg dripping down in his neck, or the sight of Dudley flying across the room. There was an unfamiliar emotion building in his stomach, no longer disbelief, but not quite hope either. "I don't understand. What are you saying? What am I?"

_"You're special,"_ the snake said simply.

Harry glared at it. "That's not an answer," he insisted.

It let out a hiss of annoyance. _"You humansss would have a word for it… I don't concern myself with such things…I didn't realize you had so many questionssss. I thought you knew what you were… if I had known I may not have bothered…"_ With that it seemed to come to a decision. It pulled away from his fingers and dropped itself delicately back onto the floor with a light thump. It crawled back the way it came, toward the front door.

"Where are you going? You can't leave yet!" Harry called after it.

It did not stop. _"I must. We will talk again... be sssure of it…"_

"But- but you haven't even told me anything! We aren't finished!" Seeing that it was ignoring him, Harry raised his voice slightly. "I'll- I'll stop you again!"

It immediately twisted its head around backwards to look at him, nearly tying its neck in a knot in the process. Nothing changed in its expression that Harry could see, but he could still feel the anger radiating off of it. He matched it with his own. _"There isssss nothing for me here… not yet." _The snake said coldly. _"We are finissshed for now… but we will talk again, when you are ready. Let me go."_

"No," Harry snapped. "I want my questions answered first. What were you talking about when you said I was special? How do you know all the things you said?"

_"I cannot answer the questionssss you ask…"_ The snake sighed. _"And the answers I have are not ones you sssseek… Let me go, young master. We will talk. But not now."_

Harry hesitated. It sounded sincere… "No," he said firmly. "We'll talk now, or not at all."

The snake's eyes narrowed into slits. _"…Very well, young master…"_ and it shot towards the door, faster than Harry would have thought possible. But he instinctively held out his hand and _reached_, feeling something in the back of mind breaking in two; snapping like a rubber band. The snake flew back toward him again. It slid across the carpet and stopped at his feet, looking as bewildered as before. He smirked and stepped forward, reaching down to grip it behind the head. His fingers had just brushed the scales, warmed by the friction of the carpet, when the snake abruptly spun, wriggling its head away from his grip and sinking its teeth into the skin of his hand. Harry bit back a cry and waved his arm in an arc, knocking the snake loose and tearing a long gash across his knuckles. He held the hand to his chest, trying to stop the bleeding. The snake wasted no time and jumped at him again, and Harry did shout when the snake latched onto his leg through his trousers. He kicked, trying to throw it off again but it held fast. He looked down at it and saw the flashing whites of its teeth just barely visible outside of the bite and the spreading red spot on the fabric. It bit down harder for a moment, then, seeming to relent, let go. Still surprised and angry, he kicked it in the side, not taking any chances. It reared back, eyes rolling in its head like billiard balls.

_ "That isssss_ enough_, young master!"_It spat, its mouth stained red. Harry felt sick at the sight. _"Let me go!"_

"No!" he shot back, nearly hissing himself. His hand felt like it was on fire. He hoped, prayed, that the snake didn't turn out to be venomous.

_"You are too ssstubborn for your own good…" _It flew toward him once more, and Harry raised his hands defensively over his head. The attack never came.

_Crack_! Harry opened his eyes to see the snake sprawled on the floor, writhing in pain. He raised his eyes gradually to see Mrs. Figg, pale-faced and trembling, brandishing her cane like a sword. As he watched, she raised it a few inches and brought it down roughly on the snakes' head. It let out a shriek of pain that made Harry flinch and it tried to crawl away, but she struck it again.

"Stop, stop!" Harry grabbed her wrist, her fragile bones shuddering under his grip. "Don't hurt it!"

She stared at him, looking more disheveled than he had ever seen her, strands of wispy gray hair hanging loose and sticking to her cheeks and her clothes wrinkled. Her eyes were still wide and dark from sleep. "Don't… what? But it was-"

"I know, but you don't have to kill it." He looked at it, curled on the floor, eyes flicking from one to another. It glared at Harry, tongue flicking out of its mouth and back again, before shoving its body into the mail slot and out the door before either Harry or Mrs. Figg could make a move. They stared after it in shock. After a moment, she turned on Harry, lowering the cane back to the floor and putting her weight on it like she had just remembered she needed it.

"Now see what you've done? Now it will be running amok, attacking the neighbors-" her eyes fell on the hand Harry was cradling. "It bit you?" she asked in horror.

He glanced down. "Oh- yeah-"

He let Mrs. Figg fuss over him for a moment. He'd never had anyone do it before, and it was rather nice to have someone be concerned for _him_. Even if it did result in her half dragging him to the kitchen and watching him like a hawk as he slapped bandages on the bite wounds. There two small puncture marks on his calf, and two more on the place where his pointer finger and thumb connected. The latter holes were torn open into long bloody arches that crosses nearly his whole hand, and it took several bandages to cover them. Mrs. Figg wanted to call the Dursleys, but Harry talked her out of it. He knew that Dudley would not appreciate being pulled away from his birthday early just because Harry had gotten scratches. He also refused to go to the hospital, though she spent nearly half an hour trying to convince him.

"But what if it was- you know-poisonous? Or venomous or whatever it is?" Mrs. Figg asked, just as they heard Uncle Vernon's car pulling into the driveway- they were home earlier than expected.

Harry had thought of that too, but insisted, "If it was, I would have felt something."

She looked unconvinced, but did not protest, and when the Dursleys clambered into the kitchen, Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia wrung out like a pair of used towels and Dudley beaming, she didn't say a word about the snake, simply collecting her things and leaving. She cast a worried glance at Harry as she walked out, but the Dursleys didn't notice.

"Did you have a good time?" Dudley said to Harry with an ill-disguised smirk, undoubtedly ready to tell Harry all about the wonderful day _he'd_ had.

Not in the mood for fight, Harry shook his head and watched as Dudley moved on to opening his birthday presents- twenty-seven of them this year- with his parents urging him on. None of them noticed the bandages on his hand, or that the lingering pain in his leg was giving him a slight limp.

It wasn't until that night in bed, watching a tiny black spider mountain climb across the ridged ceiling, that he allowed himself to wonder about what had happened. _"You can do things they can't",_ it had said. _"You're special."_ Harry couldn't deny that the idea appealed to him. All his life, the Dursleys had done nothing but tell Harry how worthless he was, what a waste, and how little they wanted him, over and over. The idea that maybe he was more important than they had ever dreamed- no, not just important, but _better_ than Dudley and his aunt and uncle and everyone else he knew- made him incredibly, shamefully happy. He had thought, or rather wished before, that he had to be meant for more than living out his life with the Dursleys, spending every day as his aunt and uncle's slave and Dudley's punching bag. Was it really so wrong that being called special had made him excited, even if it came from a talking snake of all things?

And he _was_ special, he reminded himself. He had moved the snake without touching it. And Dudley, a few days ago. And all the other times… _"You willed them and made them so"._ He didn't know how they happened, but they _had_ happened. These weren't things normal people he could do. The Dursley's certainly couldn't, and they were the most ordinary people he had ever known- in fact, they prided themselves on it. He wondered how Dudley would have reacted to a talking snake. He probably would have screamed and cried for Aunt Petunia to save him, Harry thought with a smirk.

But that didn't change the fact that he had no idea what any of it meant.

He sighed and rolled onto his side, easing the weight off of his injured leg. Yes, the snake had seemed to be telling the truth, but it had also refused to explain anything. And after being beaten by an old woman and trying to rip a few chunks out of Harry, he probably never would. Harry cursed himself for not just taking it at its word that it would come back. At least then there would have been a chance he would get some answers…

… And then he was standing in the strange bathroom once again, the floor covered with dirty water that soaked Harry's socks through. The walls were stone and dripping wet as well, little spouts of water pouring out of the cracks and slowly flooding the room. Harry looked around, blinking, and realized that there was no exit. The walls continued on all sides, unbroken and spotted grey like the sky on a rainy day. Harry walked over to one and tried to push on it, force it open, but it wouldn't budge. The snake poked its head out of his sleeve and nipped at his fingers. _"Not that way,"_ it whispered. _"Asssk it nicely." _

"How?" Harry asked.

The snake laughed, it high sharp whistling that rang in Harry's ears like great iron church bells. _"You have the answers, young masssster, not I."_

Harry opened his mouth to answer and was distracted by a sudden chocked sob. There was someone, a girl it sounded like, crying. He whirled around, but there was no one there. "Hello?"Another sob, louder this time. "Who's there?" There was a splash, and Harry looked down to see the snake drop into the water, already risen higher than his ankles. It looked up at him solemnly, and he saw that its eyes had changed. They now appeared to be kind, human eyes, with jade irises and small pupils. "You have the answers, young master, not I." It repeated, the hiss gone from its words. It whispered something else, but Harry couldn't hear it as the mysterious girl began to keen, growing longer and louder and echoing around the room. "What?" he shouted. The snake only shook its head and dove under the water, disappearing from view. He fell to his knees and tried to grab it, but when he reached into the puddle his palms collided with the floor. He rubbed them back and forth in confusion, looking for a latch, a trapdoor, anything…

"Don't bother," the boy said, hair glowing gold in the candlelight. "You'll never find him that way."

Harry turned to him and scowled. "And what would you suggest?"

He laughed, patting the seat next to him. "Relax a little! You're always so serious…" He picked a goblet off the table in front of him- now when had that gotten there, Harry wondered- and flipped his tie over his shoulder carelessly. "If you don't have a bit of fun once in a while, your hair will be falling out before you're of age." He raised his cup in the air. "Cheers, huh?" He took a drink, still grinning, not even seeming to mind when the drink poured out of his open mouth and all over his shirt, his eyes suddenly growing blank and empty and lifeless…

The walls dissolved, the water was swirling around Harry's knees now and the candles were hovering overhead, the girl's wails were loud enough to be heard on the moon but no one was listening, no one cared…

And the moon, the moon was shinning cool and bright in the sky like a newly minted coin, raindrops were splattered across the windows but none were falling, and the woman flung her arms out in desperation, like she could shield the whole world if she could just reach far enough…

"It is our choices that show what we really are, far more than our abilities…"

And Tom was sitting in his parents' drawing room and talking of 'trickery' as if he had a clue, rubbing the back of his neck and not meeting anyone's eyes because no matter what he said to appease himself he was guilty, guilty, _guilty-_

Harry awoke, as always, to his Aunt rapping on the door, the quick tapping of her fingernails nearly keeping pace with the thundering of his heart.

AN: And that's chapter two. As I'm sure most of you have already figured out, the line "It is our choices that show what we really are, far more than our abilities…" is a quote from The Sorcerer's Stone by J.K. Rowling. … i.e. not mine, don't own.


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer**: I do not own the Harry Potter series or any related merchandise, all is the property  
of one J.K. Rowling. All I own is this fan-made story, and I'm not making any profit off of it.

**AN: **Wow, so I finally updated! Sorry it's taken so long- school started up again for me, and it took me a while to get back into the swing of things. I'll still writing Chapter Four (dodges tomato) I know, I know, I'm slow… but hopefully it won't take me a month this time. Thank you all for your patience, and I have decided to award you with some lovely PLOT! As in, things actually happen in this chapter! :P Enjoy.

**Chapter Three**

Harry was soaked to the bone and there was an aluminum splinter jabbed into the palm of his hand. His fingertips were tingling painfully and his head felt as though someone was hitting his skull with a hammer from the inside. A part of him still felt that he could fall asleep where he sat.

He couldn't stop smiling.

It had actually _worked_. He could barely believe it. It had been several weeks since the snake had left, and in that time there had not been one… 'unexplained incident' to speak of. He wasn't throwing people across rooms, and no other animals had come by to whisper cryptic things about him. The snake itself had not returned since that day, which wasn't much of a surprise to Harry. It was a disappointment, as he'd been looking for it since he'd stopped limping. He'd check around corners, under beds, in the garden, and anywhere else a snake could hide. He'd even made a point of combing through the front yard on his hands and knees, looking for a flash of a grey tail or yellow eyes glowing in the morning light. He found nothing, and earned several snide remarks about heat stroke from the mailman for his trouble.

So eventually he'd been forced to give up. The snake wasn't going to come back. He must have offended it badly that it decided it wasn't worth the trouble. He couldn't help but feel a little hurt. It may have tried to tear a few chunks of flesh out of him, but the snake was the first thing Harry could remember treating him as though he really mattered, and he wanted more of that feeling. And it wasn't something he was likely to get with the Dursleys.

He hadn't been given much opportunity to be sad over it, as Aunt Petunia had wasted no time in telling him to stop moping around, he was making her nervous. Dudley had noticed the scars on Harry's hand and asked him if he'd hurt himself, looking more amused by the idea than concerned. Uncle Vernon hadn't noticed a thing was different about Harry. The only things he'd said directly to him lately were to get out of his way and that he needed a haircut again. And so life returned to normal on No. 4, Privet Drive.

Well, not entirely. It was true that Harry hadn't had another 'outburst'. But he remembered how it felt- the sensation of something breaking in two, the pieces sliding away in his mind, and the sudden surge of energy that poured into his bones, his veins, his flesh, and burned with enough force to propel Dudley across the room, or the snake back towards him, or even himself several years ago, to a towering rooftop. The feeling had only ever lasted a second before it vanished, but it was there, powerful and exhilarating. Harry had to try it again. Besides, he suspected that if he didn't learn to control it, it would happen on its own sometime. He'd gotten off lucky before, probably due out of the Dursley's need to avoid anything strange or mysterious at all costs, but it wouldn't happen again. If there was anything the Dursleys enjoyed more than trying to force Harry to be just like them, it was punishing him when he failed.

That meant that Harry needed to find some time alone, which wasn't as easy as he'd hoped. Aunt Petunia could always find something for Harry to do, and once Uncle Vernon was home Harry was expected to be either in his cupboard out of sight or somewhere where they could keep an eye on him. On the few opportunities he could sneak out and have a moment to himself, it only lasted for a half a minute before Dudley would show up with one of his friends, Piers Polkiss usually, and tried to have a little "fun" with him as they called it. Fun with Dudley could stem from anything from being chased around the neighborhood to being forced to eat dirt (a memory from when he was four that Harry didn't much like to think about). During the summer months he'd spend most of his time running away from Dudley and the other boys. That was one advantage he had over his cousin and the others; he was much faster than any of them. But not quite fast enough to get away before his Aunt was calling for him again.

But Harry had _finally_ gotten a moment alone, when Aunt Petunia had sent him out to water the flowers, threatening him with no dinner if they were overwatered. He crouched in the dirt behind a bush, in one of the long dark shadows formed when the afternoon faded to dusk. He held the cracked puce watering can between his knees. Casting at the house through the thickening shrubbery, and confident no one could see him unless they stuck their heads out the window, he placed both hands against the metal and stared down into it. His mind raced. What could he do? He'd only done this consciously once, and then it was just yanking something across a room…

"What are you doing?" Harry nearly groaned when he heard his cousin's voice behind him. He turned to meet Dudley, eating a most likely stolen piece of chocolate. None of his friends were around, a small blessing.

Harry sat back on his heels, sighing. "Your mum told me to come out here. Leave me alone."

Dudley finished his candy and tossed the wrapper at Harry's head. "It's my backyard, not yours. I can do whatever I want. Why are you hiding back here anyway? Trying to make friends with the worms?" He laughed at his own joke.

Harry just gave him a dirty look, not bothering with a reply. He looked once more towards the house, wondering where Aunt Petunia had gone. She must have left, for Dudley to be picking on Harry in plain sight. He was careful to keep up the sweet, innocent act around his parents.

"Are you listening? Hey!" A large foot collided with Harry's ribs and he jerked away, his breath coming out with a whoosh.

"I'm trying to concentrate. Go away." He rubbed his side and glared at Dudley. "Can't you go shove Mark Evans in a lake or whatever it is you do with your time?"

"Mark is at summer camp." He aimed another kick at the watering can but Harry grabbed it. "So are Piers and Gordon. So it's just you and me…" He leered at Harry. "You know your birthday's coming up?"

Harry blinked in surprise and quickly did the math in his head. Dudley was right, he'd be ten in four days. He'd forgotten… "Yeah, so what?" It wasn't like he was going to celebrate it or anything. The most the Dursley's ever did for Harry was give him a paperweight wrapped in newspaper or a pair of socks and tell him that he'd better not use this as an excuse to slack off for a day.

"So what? Aren't you gonna do anything? You could invite some friends over… oh wait…"

Harry ignored his wheezing laughter, turning his attention back to the can. There wasn't much he could do with Dudley here, but he didn't want to waste the little time he had. Maybe he could try to do something small… like tipping the can over. He could easily make that look like an accident. He placed his hands on it once more, closing his eyes. Dudley was still talking but he tuned him out.

It was hard to describe what happened next. Somehow he knew what to do, closing his eyes and falling into his own mind until he collided with the barrier, rising wide and tall his mind. It was seemingly unending, until at last he slid mental fingers across an opening, like a crack. He pushed into it, reaching further… further… until at last he found it, a ball of energy pulsating in the back of his mind like a sunbeam. After a moment's hesitation, he pushed on it as well, and to his surprise, it pushed back.

Harry gasped in shock as pure energy coursed through his veins, flowing from the top of his spine to his toes, filling him not just with heat but with an undeniable sense of _power_. His fingers clenched on the can and his whole body vibrated from the force of it. He let it build until it felt as though his body would burst and then released it with a gasp, his eyes flying open.

The can burst underneath him, the metal tearing into flimsy shreds and the water bursting out like a geyser all over Harry's face and shirt. He heard Dudley cry out but didn't look. The spout of the can came clean off and rolled away into a flowerbed. There were stars flaring up behind Harry's eyes, little balls of flame floating in darkness, and he forced them back. The wall came up around them, sealing them away. Harry went limp, water dripping down his nose and into his grinning mouth.

"What did you- How-" Dudley was just as soaked as Harry was, blond hair sticking to his forehead and several light purple shards sticking in the fabric of his shirt. Another had sliced open his cheek. "How did you do t-that-" His mouth twitched as he stuttered, and Harry couldn't help but laugh. Dudley drew back at the sound, looking terrified. It was a strange reversal; Dudley frightened, Harry happy. "Did you put a… was there a bomb in…" The cut on his face was barely a centimeter long, but it bled a streak of scarlet down his chin.

Harry opened his mouth to answer, still clutching the mangled can, when there was an audible intake of breath. They both turned to see Uncle Vernon watching them from the open doorway, his mouth hanging open slackly. His beady eyes were fixed on Harry.

It was no use trying to offer an excuse or brush it off. Harry didn't know how much he'd seen, but it was obviously more than enough. There was a pause, too long to be comfortable. Harry let go of the can and it rolled into the bushes. "Dad?" Dudley stepped towards his father uncertainly, wiping his cheek on his sleeve. "Dad, are you-"

"Get inside!" The man barked, and both boys jumped. Dudley in particular looked bewildered- his father had never shouted at him before. Uncle Vernon's face was swiftly reddening to the shade of a ripe tomato. "Hurry!" he hissed. "Before the neighbors see something!"

Not daring to disobey him, Harry ran in, Dudley waddling after him. Uncle Vernon looked from one to the other, his chest heaving. Harry saw that he was still in a suit- he must have just come home from work.

"Dudley," Uncle Vernon said jerkily, before stopping and wiping a hand over his face. "Dudley… go upstairs and… and get your mother to bandage that cut." Dudley did not move. He seemed disoriented. "Go on!"

Dudley hurried out, footsteps squishing wetly on the carpet. Harry and Uncle Vernon stood in silence, Harry's mind racing. What had he been thinking-?

"I…" He stopped, having no end to that sentence. "I was just… I was trying…"

When Uncle Vernon spoke, he did not shout, as Harry had expected. His words came out in a soft, menacing whisper. "_What_," He stopped and closed his eyes for a moment. Harry watched him, fighting the urge to run. The light outside was steadily growing dimmer, casting long shadows into the room. His uncle's eyes reopened, wide and crazed. "What," he hissed again, "did you just do?"

Harry couldn't think of anything to say. His mouth had gone dry and he licked his lips nervously. "I…er…"

"What have we told you?"

"I was just-"

"You will not flaunt your- your abnormality while _in this house!_" Uncle Vernon's whisper was grating and strained. "I will not have my family put in danger because_ you _can't _control yourself!"_

Harry froze, shocked. Uncle Vernon _knew?_ "What? I don't underst-"

He turned on Harry, who backed up quickly. Uncle Vernon followed until Harry was pressed up against the fridge. He pointed a large finger into Harry's face. "You listen here, boy. I don't care _what_ you are, or what your parents were." Harry's heart jumped. His parents? "But as long as you're under my roof, you will act _normal_. You will do as I say, when I say it, and you will not allow your… _strangeness_ to taint this family. And you will _not_," the finger began shaking, the nail hitting Harry's nose, "you will not _ATTACK MY SON!"_

"I didn't mean to- it was an acci- an accident-" Harry lied.

"I DON'T _CARE_ WHAT IT WAS!" His breath puffed over Harry's face, smelling like stale coffee. "We _swore_, when we took you in, that we'd have none of this- horrible _nonsense_ in our lives. And if you don't stamp it out now, I'll beat it out of you!"

It was an empty threat. Harry knew that. Despite everything Uncle Vernon was, for all that he shouted and called Harry names and pushed him around, Uncle Vernon had never, ever, hit him. But as those words left his Uncle's mouth, Harry felt a fury rising up inside him and hooking clawed fingers into his heart, snapping the wall in his mind in two in a practiced motion. And if a part of him tried to stop himself, it was crushed under the burning tide, pouring out of the cracks in Harry's mind and throwing Uncle Vernon to the floor. He was pinned flat on his back like a butterfly tacked on the wall and his face was turning purple once more, but for a different reason. Distantly Harry could hear someone screaming in his ears- maybe it was him- but he couldn't stop now, not when he finally had the man where he belonged, at Harry's mercy. The rush of power was too strong and he could do little more than grin as he watched his uncle begin to die, even as his body began to ache from effort, even as the blood roared in his ears like the screams of the tortured, even as Uncle Vernon's features began to morph and run together right in front of him, becoming younger, with longer, darker hair and a smudged face, but that same look of fear and horror…

He snapped out of it when someone slapped him, knocking his head sideways with the force of it. He opened his eyes wide, his vision beginning to clear, when he was struck again. Slowly, the face of Aunt Petunia formed in front of him, her cheeks slick with tears and her hand poised for another blow. "Let him go!" she sobbed. "God almighty, let him go!"

Harry gazed at her in confusion, and looked down. Uncle Vernon lay on the floor, letting out horrible gasping sounds and tearing at his own throat like he was trying to rip the skin away. He tore thin red gashes into his flesh but he didn't seem to feel it. His face was contorted in a silent scream that he either couldn't or wouldn't let out. It was disgusting. It was terrifying.

Aunt Petunia's hand came down once again, but Harry caught it before it completed its arc. She yanked away as though his touch had burned her. "_Stop it_!"

Harry felt his legs trembling and the rushing sensation in his head and realized the power holding Vernon to the floor was coming from _him_. With a gasp, he cut it off, and his uncle convulsed for a moment, then went limp on the floor, body splayed, a meat slab on a cutting board. He did not open his eyes.

"Vernon!" Aunt Petunia cried, diving to his side and grasping one of his hands in hers, paying no mind to the blood dripping down his wrists from his nails. "Vernon, are you alright? Vernon!"

Harry had sealed his powers away, but his head was spinning and he couldn't seem to form coherent thoughts. He found himself slipping down the fridge, falling to his knees on the tiled floor and knocking down several magnets in the process. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Dudley stumbling forward, out of the kitchen doorway were he'd been watching, frozen, his clothes still damp. His face was ashen, and he seemed to fall to his father's side more than kneel.

Uncle Vernon's face was returning to its usual pink fleshy coloring, but something was wrong, his eyes were closed tight and his chest was still. Aunt Petunia's voice was hushed, like she was praying in an ancient cathedral rather than crouched in her kitchen over her husband's lifeless body."Vernon? Vernon, darling, talk to me. _Please_."

Harry stared at his Uncle's body, holding his breath as well, waiting, waiting… and at last the man breathed in. His eye lashes fluttered weakly. "Petunia…?" She sobbed in relief and pressed her forehead into his chest, wrapping spidery arms around his larger frame. Dudley let out his breath in a whoosh, his chin wobbling, and gripped his father's elbow as if for balance. There was a long pause, where the family all huddled together and let out a collective breath. Harry watched them silently from the floor. He had never felt more out of place, but could think of nothing to say, couldn't even gather enough energy to get up and leave them in peace. Before he could do anything, Aunt Petunia lifted her head and turned towards Harry, stormy green-grey eyes still watery and accusing. Her lips were tight and trembling. _"What did you do to him?"_

"Wha…?" Harry found himself at loss for words for the second time that night. He felt that couldn't have replied even if he had an answer for her. "I… I don…tha…"

"You could have killed him!" She screamed, on the verge of hysteria. "You could have killed my husband, you twisted little _monster_!"

Harry flinched at the words as though she had slapped him again. He tried and failed to sit up, his legs refusing to support his weight. "No- I didn't mean to, I was just-"

"You didn't _mean_ to?" She laughed, throwing her head back. The clear tracks on her cheeks gleamed. "My god, you _are_ just like her!" She pulled herself to her feet, latching onto the spotless marble counter for support. _"Get out!"_

Harry didn't understand what was happening. It was all spiraling out of his control and he held up an unsteady hand, trying to grasp it back. "Hold on- I don't-"

"_Get out of my house!"_

Dudley, shockingly, actually rose to Harry's defense. "Mummy? What are you doing?" He looked just as terrified as Harry felt. His tiny eyes flicked from Harry's face to his mother's nervously, and he did not release his death grip on his father's arm. The fleshy bandage on his cheek was a stark contrast to his skin.

"Get out!" she screamed. "I won't let you destroy this; I would let her ruin this the way she ruined everything else! I thought we could _fix_ you before it was too late, but you're rotten just like they both were, just like the rest of your disturbed, nasty kind!" Her voice rose higher and shriller until it was nearly impossible to understand. It sounded more like a bird being mutilated than a person. Vernon had fallen back into unconsciousness, but he shivered at her screams, whether from the noise or what she was saying Harry didn't know. "So leave my family alone and go and join them, you little _freak_!" She swung her arm towards the doorway like a scythe.

There were a million protests on the tip of Harry's tongue, apologizes and pleas mixed in with arguments. But he looked into the face of the women who had raised him for eight years and knew with dull certainly that it was pointless. There was nothing for him here. No sympathy, no regret, not a trace of the approval he longed for. She didn't see him, she didn't see what he could do, only that he was _wrong_, he was always _wrong_, a tumor in her life. She would never forgive him, Harry realized, and that thought was too much to bear.

Harry ran. He burst up from the floor like it was on fire, sprinting past her and down the hall. He thought that maybe she faltered in the instant that he moved, or that maybe Dudley called after him, but he didn't dare stop. He burst through the door, nearly tearing it off its hinges, and knocking over the flowerpot on the steps. Muddy water and fertilizer sprayed all over his already soggy shoes and he nearly tripped. The wind howled around him and he fled from it, down the driveway and along the sidewalk, past the sign that said Privet Drive, dashing through the glow of the streetlamp with a flash before running further into the growing darkness. His breath was coming in short gasps and there was wetness on his face that may have been tears but he wouldn't stop to think about it. He ran and ran until he couldn't run any farther and familiar stopped, gasping and spinning around. He strained to see in the thin light. He was on an unfamiliar street, with dark houses all around him. It was not quite night yet, but it was dim enough that he could barely see his hand in front of him. He didn't know how far he had run.

Harry breathed in deep, and scowled at himself when he nearly sobbed. He _would not cry. _He had not cried since he was four years old when Dudley and Piers had beaten him up behind the playground and Aunt Petunia, seeing him, accused him of playing in the dirt and made him go wash the tears and grass stains off his face. He would not cry now. Not for that woman. He wiped the lingering wetness on his face away angrily.

His head was still buzzing, and when he closed his eyes he could see little multicolored spots of fire still swirling around in his head; particles of dust in the light of the afternoon sun. He clenched his jaw and slammed down the walls in his mind, and they disappeared. He didn't want to think about what he had done- what he had almost done. But the image of Uncle Vernon writhing on the floor in agony like a worm doused in acid was not easily shaken. He shuddered. He hadn't meant to do it. He'd been angry, and this whatever-it-was within him had lashed out, the same way it had before. He didn't want anyone to get hurt.

Did he? Harry stared at the cragged stony sidewalk. He could remember how it felt, holding the man to the floor. There was that familiar pressure, the pain building in his head the longer he held it out, but there was also a pleasant feeling. Something in him had rejoiced, seeing the man who had made him life a living hell in agony…

He sat down roughly on the curb. No, that wasn't right. Yes, he'd been angry, and yes, he'd lost control. But that didn't mean- he didn't like the man, he never had, and he'd thought that he wanted to get back at him, but-

-surely he didn't want Uncle Vernon _dead_?

Harry stuck his hands in his armpits, trying to keep warm. A cloud drifted lazily over the moon and darkened the shadows criss-crossing his body. For the first time in his life, he found himself longing for his cupboard. It may have been tiny, but it was warm and dry and safe. He could curl up in his blankets like a mouse in a chewed-out hole in the wall and hide from the world, even if it was only for a few hours a night. Out here he felt so exposed. The darkness was pressing down on him at every side, and he imagined he could feel eyes on the back of his neck.

There was no point to that train of thought so he stopped it. Where could he go? He didn't know anyone that would take him in. His parents were dead, he could never go back to the Dursleys house now, and he had no other relatives that he knew of. Thanks to the Dursleys, he'd never spoken to any of the neighbors. Harry was fairly certain most of them didn't know he existed. Friends? That idea was just laughable. He thought briefly of Mrs. Figg. She had never exactly been kind, but she hadn't been cruel either. After a moment, he decided against it. The woman had seemed like to him more than his family, but that wasn't saying much, and if he went to her she'd probably just call the police. And the police might put him in an orphanage.

He'd heard plenty of horror stories about orphanages growing up. Uncle Vernon especially never tired of reminding Harry how lucky he was that his Aunt in Uncle had taken him in, rather than dumped him in a 'hell-hole' where he'd be beaten and underfed and god knew what else. Wasn't he grateful, with how well he got to live in their house? Didn't he appreciate the kindness they were doing him, just by putting up with him?

Not that that kindness ran very deep, Harry reminded himself, the wind gently ruffling his hair.

So he couldn't go to Mrs. Figg, nor could he hope for the best and ask a stranger for help. Anyone who saw a homeless nine-year old wandering around would call the authorities without hesitation. But then what could he do? Sleep in the woods, stealing food from trash bins and dodging people until he was eighteen? He'd never survive, and even if he did he'd get caught eventually. He groaned and dropped his head onto his knees. What good was being so _special_ if this was where it got? Despair washed over him.

He thought he heard a sound in the distance, like a car backfiring, but paid no attention to it. He felt exhausted, his eyes closing involuntarily, Dudley's old jeans itching against his forehead. He couldn't exactly sleep on the side of the road, but it wouldn't be so bad to just rest, just for a moment…

"You alright there, son?" Harry jolted, snapping up his head, and squinted when a light shone into his eyes. A heavy-set man dressed in what looked like rags stood over him. Mangy strands of red hair hung in his face and he was holding some kind of flashlight in his hand, a long thin rod with the end lit up like a candle. "It's late, y' know… can't wander around at night, you never know what kinda critters might be hanging around…" he laughed roughly and stepped back, almost tripping. His legs were bowed and unsteady.

The man stank of something that reminded Harry of antiseptic wipes, the flashlight shaking in his hand. Harry stood and stepped away carefully. "Yes, thank you, I was just going-"

"Merlin," the man said suddenly, jaw falling open slackly. His eyes were fixed on Harry's forehead. Harry realized that he was staring at his scar and reached up to try and brush his hair over it. "Bleedin' hell…" the man whispered. "You're Harry Potter!"

Harry drew back instinctively, he mind racing. He peered closer at the man apprehensively Harry had received the "don't talk to strangers or they will give you candy and then chop you up into little pieces" lecture in school just like everyone else, and he thought about just running away. But, "How did you know my name?"

"Well everybody knows your name, don' they? What are you doing out here? You're supposed to be with the… the… the Dubbles!"

"How do you know about the Dursleys?" It was no good; the man could probably outrun him, no matter how drunk he obviously was. Harry clenched his hands into fists. Maybe he could fight him off…

"The Dursleys, yeah, yeah, tha's what I was saying. You're supposed to be staying with them, not wandering around at night. How 'm I supposed to protect you if you're not where y'or supposed to be? 'M not a bleeding miracle worker. Go on, get!" He pointed in what seemed to be a random direction, directing Harry as if he were an unruly dog.

"I can't. They threw me out." Protect him? Harry eyes roamed over the man. He didn't _look_ like a policeman…

"They…. they _WHAT_?" The man began shouting, looking crazed, and Harry noticed that his eyes were bloodshot. "What do you mean? _Why?!_ How- was Figgy bleedin' _asleep_? That old hag- she's supposed to watch you too, not just shove it all on me!" The man shook his head furiously, a few ginger strands clinging to what looked like ink smeared across his forehead. "What did you _do_ to piss them off that bad?!"

Harry opened his mouth to answer but was cut off. "You just wait till Dumbledore hears about this, he'll have all our heads! 'Specially mine!" He twitched at the thought. "Can't you make them take you back?"

Harry shook his head numbly, now thoroughly alarmed.

The man let the air out of his lungs with a squeak, like a set of bagpipes deflating. "Ah, god, he never told us what to do if this happened… all those emergency procedures and the man still doesn't think ahead…" He reached out and grasped Harry's arm with greasy fingers. "…Well, if he gets brassed off, he's got no one to blame but himself…" His hand was thin and strangely warm, and it tensed around Harry's bicep. Quickly, Harry tried to shake him off, but the man stepped back and yanked, twisting Harry away from the sidewalk. What little light there was disappeared and Harry was thrown into darkness, the sidewalk somehow disappearing underneath him and pressure coming in on all sides like his whole body was being forced through a straw. His windpipe was being crushed from every angle and his arms and legs were stretching, being pressed flat. He couldn't breathe…

All at once the pressure vanished, as did the supporting hand on his arm. With a cry, Harry tumbled for his knees for the second time that night. Slowly the world reformed around him and he opened his eyes, lifting his head to meet three unfamiliar faces, all staring at him with identical expressions of shock.


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer**: I do not own the Harry Potter series or any related merchandise, all is the property  
of one J.K. Rowling. All I own is this fan-made story, and I'm not making any profit off of it.

**AN: **So I actually intended this chapter to be longer, but it's been so ridiculously long since I last updated I figured I had better get this up quick before you all lost interest. ^^; Good news: now that all of the messy exposition in this part is out of the way, we can move time along a bit quicker here. I.e., Harry will be at Hogwarts within the next two chapters. Hallelujah. …Hopefully, anyway. X( Don't ever take me at my word. I am a dirty-rotten no-good pig-stealing lying liar who lies and you cannot trust me.

* * *

**Chapter Four**

Harry pulled himself to his feet on shaky legs, lightheaded from the sudden return of oxygen. He was in what looked like a study, ebony walls lined with overflowing bookshelves and every window covered. The only sources of light were 19th-century lamps set on every surface, casting long shadows across the room. Three of the strangest-looking people Harry had ever seen were standing around a desk, staring at him. The first, a woman, had her greying hair pulled back so tight it seemed to stretch her skin across her cheeks and was dressed in velvet green robes with a tall pointed hat on her head, like something out of a storybook. The man to her left was massive, his head nearly scraping the ceiling and a dark bushy beard obscuring most of his face. His black overcoat was the size of a bed quilt. The final man was tall and skinny, in robin-egg blue robes and eyes the same color that twinkled at Harry. His hair and beard were white; he looked about a hundred years old. As Harry met the last man's eyes, he felt a sharp pain dance along his scar and was overcome by a strange sense of revulsion, as though he were about to puke. He stumbled back, breaking the man's gaze, and the feeling vanished.

"Mundungus?" The woman spoke first, looking at the scruffy-man like he was something she'd scrapped off the bottom of her boot. "What's going on here?"

Mundungus stepped forward, lifting up his chin. In the better lighting Harry could see that he was, in fact, dressed in brown and grey rags, and his skin was smudged with grime. "Well," he said, "as you can see, we've, ah, we've got a bit of a problem."

"Why's _he_ here?" the giant said. His hands clenched in his fists the size of garbage can lids at his sides and he watched Harry with dark eyes. "Isn't he supposed to be home? Unless… no, he's not old enough yet, is he?"

"No, he's _not_," the woman snapped. She sighed loudly, pinching the bridge of her nose. "I _knew_ something would go wrong, I _knew_ we shouldn't trust you..."

"Hey hey, I didn' do anything!" Mundungus said indignantly, taking a few stumbling steps forward. "I just did wha' I was _told_! You never said what to do if he left on his own, jus' to keep him safe! What was I s'posed to do, let him wander the streets?""

"The streets? What was he out at this time of night?"

This question seemed to be directed at Harry, and he blinked in surprise, opening his mouth. He thought he'd been doing a very good job on not panicking so far, but he was hanging on to his calm by a thread at this point. "I…well…"

"Weren't you and Arabella supposed to be watching the house, making sure everything was alright? Why didn't you just take him back home?"

"I don' know what Figgy is doing, she didn't contact me! I just found him and he said he couldn' go back-"

"Why? What's going on-"

"That is quite enough, both of you." The man in blue did not shout, but one wouldn't think of ignoring that voice. Both of them immediately fell silent. He crossed the room, eyes steely under half-moon spectacles. "I share your concerns, but you are frightening the boy." He was looking towards Harry with an unreadable expression and Harry tensed, but he spoke his next words at Mundungus. "I want a simple explanation. What happened?"

Mundungus shot a nasty glare at the woman before speaking. "I was on patrol, like I'm _s'posed to be_, when I found _him_," he nodded towards Harry, "sitting by himself a few blocks away from home. I told him he needed to ge' back, like you said, but he said he couldn'. The muggles threw him out- and if you want to blame anyone, blame Figgy, she's the one who was supposed to be keepin' an eye on the house tonight!"

"Harry. Is that true?"

Harry blinked in surprise. "Erm- yes. Yes… How'd you know my name?"

"I was a friend of your parents," the man said. "You say that you can't return to your aunt and uncle's house?"

"You- yes. My aunt told me not to come back. She…um… I'm sorry, who are you? What's going on?"

The man did not answer, but slowly, as though he could not help himself, he lowered his eyes from the wall and met Harry's gaze again. The pain and nausea returned immediately, familiar now from a number of mornings he'd woken up after being violently wrenched out of another dream- but he was wide awake now, Harry was sure of it. Rather than slowly fading the way they usually did, the pain in his head and his guts got worse as Harry stared into the flat blue gaze and had trouble blinking. Finally, the man nodded and looked at the ground. Harry let out his breath in a gasp.

"I apologize, Harry, you must be very confused. My name is Albus Dumbledore. I was a friend of your parents, as were Professor McGonagall and Hagrid." He nodded at the woman in green and then at the giant, who had done little but glower at Harry since he'd arrived.

"My aunt and uncle never mentioned you."

"I am not surprised. Your aunt was not on good terms with your mother, and in general didn't want to associate with any others of her kind."

McGonagall snorted. "That's a nicer way than I would have put it."

"Minerva, please." Dumbledore shot her a look and she fell silent. "Harry, would you mind telling us exactly what happened?"

Harry did mind, very much. But looking around him and not seeing a friendly face in sight, he thought he'd better try do as he was told. He briefly thought about running instead, but he was greatly outnumbered, and he had no idea where he was, or even how far from Privet Drive. "There's not much else. I had a… fight… with my aunt, and she told me to leave." That was all they were going to get out of him, until he could find a way to escape.

Dumbledore nodded slowly, apparently satisfied. "Minerva, do you have a free room? Take Harry there, he's obviously had a rough evening."

The woman's eyes widened in her head like those of an owl, but it was the giant next to her who protested. "Professor, yeh can't possibly leave him here!"

Dumbledore raised his eyebrows. "And what exactly would you have me do, Hagrid? Throw him out into the cold?"

"Tha's a start," the man said, and Harry flinched. What on earth had he done to _him_? "This is crazy, Dumbledore. Weren' yeh the one who always said it'd be dangerous fer us to see 'im too early?"

"The situation has obviously changed, Hagrid, and my decision stands. Minerva, please take him out of here." She hesitated, but then obediently led Harry to the door, pulling him by the wrist with loose fingers, barely touching him. "Mundugus, you may return to your post," Harry heard Dumbledore add, and looking back, he saw the man grin in relief before vanishing with a loud _crack_, like a car backfiring. Harry gasped in shock and the door slammed between them.

"What was that?" he asked, looking up at McGonagall- Minerva? She pursued her lips and did not answer, and tightened her fingers like talons into his arm when he tried to pull away.

The hall was dimly lit, with more of those same outdated lamps and a number of portraits lining the walls; men and women who had been dead for centuries staring down at Harry as he passed. He thought he saw one move, but it may have been a trick of the light. They came upon what must have been a guest bedroom. It was clearly unused, empty except for a bed, a light, and a small window on the far wall. McGonagall unceremoniously pushed him in, adding, "You can rest here for the night. All right?" She didn't pause to let him answer. "We'll speak with you in the morning. Until then…" her eyes moved to his scar, and her mouth twisted. "…don't make trouble." She closed the door with a bang.

Harry waited until he heard her footsteps walk away before he ran forward and grasped at the handle, tugging on it. The door did not budge- she must have locked it. He was _locked in_. He stumbled back a few steps, his throat clogging with fear. He kicked the door as hard as he could. Nothing. He could have opened it with his powers- he knew he could. But he couldn't try that now. He couldn't even consider if it, not after- Thinking furiously, he tried the window, but it too wouldn't budge. Harry closed his eyes and tried to calm his breathing, which had suddenly become fast and ragged. His earlier stomach sickness apparently hadn't vanished after all; he felt dizzy and sat heavily on the bed.

He should have just run when he had the chance, made a break for it while they were talking. He rubbed his hands across his face and glanced out the window. He did a double take. His eyes had slowly begun to adjust to the darkness outside, and he could make out in the distance, faint but unmistakable, a mountain range bathed in silver moonlight. It was official, he was somewhere far, far away from Privet Drive, how or why he didn't know. The man- Mundungus- had touched him, and it was like he was being suffocated for a moment… had the man knocked him out? Carried him here? Was it even the same night? For all he knew he'd been out of it for hours… But what he had seen as he was led away, what did that mean? The man had just vanished, gone before he could blink. It wasn't a mistake, he knew what he saw, and the way the woman had brushed off his question told him enough…

Harry pressed his hands over his eyes and fell back on the covers. At least he'd sleep indoors that night, unlike he'd supposed. He may have been kidnapped, shoved around, and shouted at, but it was better than freezing. He opened his mouth to laugh to himself and immediately clapped a hand over the tiny, hysterical giggling that came out.

The lamp, containing actual fire, he saw now- great, how was he supposed to put that out- cast the entire room in a golden, flickering light that made him feel drowsy. The bed was a great deal larger and warmer than the one in his cupboard, even if it did stink of mothballs, and while he was sure that he was too shocked and angry to actually fall asleep, he must have. For one moment he was lying on the bed, shaking, and the next he found himself tangled in his dreams the same way as always, pacing the halls of the castle, watching the candles flicker and the stars gleam in the sky. He drifted through the images in a haze, everything blurring together in shades of gold and green. The water rose around his ankles, the girl sobbed in the background, and the snake was winding itself around his wrist, climbing up his arm and staring him in the face, seeming to loom larger and closer until its yellow eyes were all he could see.

"What's wrong?" he asked it, but for once it did not speak. Its eyes were looming larger, larger, until he was falling into them, swirling in darkness, having forgotten what he meant to ask. He felt like he was drowning, but at the same time there was kind of peace in the forgetting.

He jolted awake at footsteps coming down the hall. It took him a minute to remember where he was, and then he quickly jolted up, ready to fight- but the feet stopped just outside his door, and he could hear whispering. Quietly, he crept over to the door and pressed his ear against it.

"Oh, don't be so careful Albus, it's not as if you're disturbing him. Let me come in with you- I don't think you ought to see him by yourself, considering..."

"No. The boy must be feeling overwhelmed, it will be easier if you allow me to ease him into this. I understand that you are finding all this… a bit much to deal with. And I'll admit that I'd hoped there would be more of a change. Perhaps I have been too optimistic. I thought the five of us would be enough for the time being, and that it would truly make a difference early on. I'll admit that I was wrong. But it was a dangerous assumption to make in the first place. What's the saying? 'Old habits die hard'…"

"Then what are we supposed to do now?"

"Do? Why, we shall do nothing."

"Nothing? You can't be serious?"

"Don't misunderstand me. I'm merely saying that I had higher hopes. I still believe that we can change things. There is a chance now, and there was a chance then, though I didn't see it. And I know this certainly isn't easy for _any_ of us-"

"That's not it, Albus. I'm afraid."

"Afraid? Why?"

"Why? Because he _killed_ them! He killed them all, and you expect me to just-"

"No, Minerva. That man is dead. He cannot harm any of us now."

"I can't do this, Albus, I can't."

"You must. The boy is in danger, it is our duty to-"

"Our duty! To whom? To Lily and James? Do you think that they would have wanted this?'

"Lily believed in second chances, as do I. The boy needs us. He is alone in the world, and he is an innocent. I need you to put aside your own feelings and do what is right."

"This isn't right. Nothing about this is right."

"On that point I'm afraid we'll have to disagree." The door swung open and Harry threw himself back out of the way. Dumbledore walked in, dressed much the same as he had been the last time Harry had seen him, though looking imperceptibly more tired. He took in Harry's rumpled appearance with a faint smile. "I trust you slept, then?"

Harry flushed and tried to straighten his shirt. _How_, _how_ could he have been so _stupid_- The door was at last open, but McGonagall stood in the way, as did Dumbledore. He wouldn't make it two feet if he tried to run now. He had to wait for a moment when they were off their guard, run towards a town, find the police, a bus, a phone, something- "Yes," he mumbled, staring at the floor. "Could you please tell me what is going on now?" He hesitated, added, "Sir?"

Dumbledore nodded. "Of course. Minerva, would you leave us, please?" She clearly wanted to argue but, once again, obeyed without comment.

There was a long silence, during which time Harry fidgeted and kept looking at the window so he wouldn't be tempted to stare at the door- if he did it was all over. He could feel Dumbledore studying him, dissecting him with his gaze, and it made him uncomfortable but he didn't know what to say to stop it. It was daylight now, the brown-grey peaks of the mountain emerging out of the fog and a pale blue early-morning light illuminating the room. The lamp was still burning, unchecked. Dumbledore strode idly past Harry to take a seat on the rumpled bed. He was obviously too large for it and it creaked painfully under his weight. "You don't mind if I take a seat, do you? I've been on my feet for quite a while."

Harry shook his head no.

"Now, Harry, what is it you'd like to ask?"

"I'd- what?"

"I'm sure you must have very many questions for me. I know I did not do a very good job of explaining things last night, so please, anything you are confused about. To start, I'd like to say that neither myself or Mundungus are kidnappers. I am not a criminal of any kind, for that matter, though Mundungus has fewer reservations on the subject than I." Dumbledore clasped his hands in his lap in front of him, looking expectant and amused, whether at Harry's blank expression or at himself unclear.

"No, no, I mean…" Harry had so many questions he didn't even know where to start. "Who are all you people? What do you want?"

"I've told you already, I was-am- a friend of your parents. You were brought here for your own safety."

"Safety from what?"

"All in good time," Dumbledore said kindly. Infuriatingly.

"Where am I?"

"Not far from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Myself, Professor McGonagall and Hagrid occasionally work in this house while school is not in session, so as to get out of the way of preparations for the new school year. We were just discussing the new Defense Against the Dark Art's professor when you'd arrived." All this was said without a hint of irony.

Harry gaped at him. "What?"

"Oh, he's quite a pleasant fellow, though Minerva had some doubts about his background-"

"No, I- Did you say witches? Like… real witches?"

"Yes," Dumbledore said calmly.

Harry couldn't wrap his head around it. "You mean… like…"

"There's no need to act so shocked, Harry. Within a year or so, you'll be a student yourself, and, someday after that, a full-fledged wizard."

At last the pieces fell into place. Harry couldn't believe he hadn't figured this out before. They were all mad. Stark, raving, mad. It was as simple as that. No wonder they dressed like members of the circus. His uncle had known what he was talking about all along. And he, Harry, needed to get out of there while he still could. He continued edging toward the door, inch by inch, not letting his face give anything away.

"….And, Harry," Dumbledore said, straightening up in his seat, still smiling faintly, "We should discuss this magic of yours- your control over it truly is remarkable, but still, you almost committed a murder yesterday." Harry froze. "Now, I'd say that doesn't bode well for you, now does it? Indeed, that could get you in quite a bit of trouble, couldn't it?" And, abruptly, Dumbledore's smile was gone.

For a long moment, Harry just stared, then, cursing himself a hundred times over, he turned and sprinted for the door. He took three steps, almost made it out, before something hit him in the back like a sledgehammer and threw him to the floor. He tried to pull himself back up and found with horror that he was paralyzed, his arms welded to his sides. He twisted his gaze towards Dumbledore. The man was pointing some kind of stick- a wand- at him with a hard expression.

"Wha…" He could make noise, but his lips were frozen. Dumbledore moved the wand in a downward slash and the pressure on Harry's head vanished, though the rest did not. He dropped his forehead onto the ground with a gasp. "How… what are you doing to me?"

"Why did you run?" Dumbledore asked, quietly.

Harry tried to struggle, couldn't even twitch. "Look, I-I don't know what you want, but please just let me go." With horror, Harry felt tears welling up. "I didn't mean for anything bad to happen, it was an accident, please just get-" He tried to move again, failed.

Dumbledore just watched him, then, after several seconds, sighed heavily. "Forgive me, Harry. I was testing you. I wanted to see how you'd react."

"What are you talking about?"

"I wanted to see what you first instinct would be when upset or angered, and you did as I hoped- you did not attack. That's good, Harry, very good. It shows that you are not violent by nature. I can help you, Harry. I'm sure you're very frightened and confused, and I promise I can help."

"What the _hell_ are you talking about?" Harry asked again, furiously.

"What happened to your Uncle was not your fault, Harry."

"_How_-" he broke off, sucked in a deep breath to try to calm himself. It didn't help. "How-"

"I spoke with your aunt and uncle last night."

It was such a ludicrous statement Harry couldn't think of anything to say. The Dursleys wouldn't let this man into their house, dressed as he was, friend of his parents or no- in fact, that wouldn't work in his favor.

"It was not your fault, Harry. You do not have to be afraid. Now, may I let you up?"

He sounded almost concerned, but Harry knew it had to be faked. He let out his breath in a long, ugly sigh. "Yes. Please let me go." Immediately the force holding him to the ground dissipated, and he pulled himself up. Dumbledore, who had walked over at some point, tried to help with a hand on his elbow. Harry twitched away, glaring. He opened his mouth, but Dumbledore cut in before he could start shouting.

"Harry, believe when I say I am truly, truly sorry. It was a precaution only. I am not your enemy. There is no need to run. No one in this house will harm you, or force you to say anything you do not wish to say."

"But you won't let me leave." It was not a question.

"For your own safety," Dumbledore countered. "I want to help you, Harry. But I need you to listen to me. Please let me help."

Harry stared at him. Dumbledore was still avoiding his eyes. He quashed down on what was beginning to feel less like fear and more like anger. "What you said, about witches, and wizards… that wasn't…" He glanced down, but Dumbledore had put the wand away somewhere.

"I was telling you the truth, Harry. I wanted to see your reaction, but I did not lie to you."

"Then what you just did…"

"…Was magic."

"Magic?" Harry repeated. "It's- it _is_ magic, then? The things I can do?"

Dumbledore peered at him over half-moon spectacles, blue eyes sharp. "Yes," he said simply. "You are a wizard, as were your parents, as am I."

"A wizard?" Harry couldn't quite wrap his head around it. "It's true then? I am… special."

Dumbledore narrowed his eyes further. "Special… yes, that's one way to put it. In truth, there is a very large community of magical folk, who most muggles are not aware of." He sat on the bed.

"But I'm not a muggle, am I? Why didn't anyone ever tell me? I mean, why didn't you, if you knew about me?"

"I am not your legal guardian. After your parent's death, it was decided that it would be safest for you to go to live with your aunt and uncle, and it was their decision of how to raise you. At least, until the time at which you were old enough to attend Hogwarts."

"And Hogwarts is…"

"It is a school for magical children, where they may learn to harness and control their abilities. Your parents were both students there, years ago." Dumbledore smiled with faint pride. "I am the headmaster. Typically students enter the school at the age of eleven. Many, like you, are not aware of what they are until they receive their acceptance letter, although others have lived in the wizarding world for their entire lives. Yours wasn't due to come for another year, at which time all would be explained to you. We didn't expect you to find your way to us."

"Sorry," Harry said, though he felt the urge to point out that they had brought him there in the first place.

"There is no need to apologize. What happened was not your fault," he said again.

Harry looked at the floor. "But if you talked to them, you know what I did-"

"It is not uncommon for magical children, especially ones who are not born into the wizarding world, to lose control of their magical abilities, assuming they have any control over them at all," Dumbledore said earnestly. "That is why they attend school, to learn self-control. You acted out of panic, not maliciousness. Your actions were wrong, yes, but you cannot be held accountable for them. And," he smiled kindly, "it is clear to me that you are not proud of what you did, nor would you do it again. Am I correct?"

Harry nodded vigorously. Dumbledore seemed pleased- and oddly relieved. "So, my uncle's all right then? They're all all right?"

The smile disappeared. "He's shaken, but yes, they'll all be fine. However, there is an issue. They have absolutely refused to take you back in, and I would rather not force them to."

Well, that was hardly news. "Excuse me… sir," he had to force himself to say it, "I don't see how that's an issue. Now, I mean. You said you'd help me right?" Harry waited nervously for his nod. "Then, isn't there another way? They-the Dursleys- never liked me, and I, well, I didn't like them much either, so if they want me gone, then shouldn't I just go? There must be somebody else, someone you or my parents knew- " Wizards, his parents had been _wizards_, with whole lives separate from his dull one on Privet Drive. No wonder the Dursleys had hated talking about them, hated _them_, hated Harry…

Dumbledore was quiet for a while. "I once believed that the Dursleys was the best place for you, for a number of reasons. However, under the circumstances….we could, possibly, consider other options."

Harry felt elated. "Then…"

"It's not as simple as that, however. There are many who would take you in, but not for the right reasons. But if we don't come up with a solution, the ministry may get involved, if they aren't aware of the situation already..."

Harry didn't know what that meant, but as quickly as it had risen, Harry's heart sank. "What can I do, then? Will I… go to an orphanage?"

The look Dumbledore gave him was surprisingly sharp. "No. I will not consider that. For the time being, until I can come up with a solution, you will remain here. Professor McGonagall will be living here for the rest of the summer, working. You will be provided for as long as need be."

Dumbledore got up from the bed and Harry straightened as well. "Wait, sir, don't leave just yet! How long would that be?"

"I'll have to find a place for you, Harry, but it will be difficult, and may take some time. I'll inform you as soon as I have one. I'm afraid, Harry, that we've already talked for too long. We will speak again soon, don't worry." With that he strode for the door.

Harry couldn't believe it. He had barely had any of his questions answered, and Dumbledore all of a sudden couldn't get away quickly enough. "Wait, sir, wait!" He waited for Dumbledore to turn to face him. "You keep saying that… you were keeping me safe, 'that it was the safest place for me'. Sir, what exactly are you keeping me safe from? I don't suppose that you do this for all your students? Is it just because my parents were your friends?"

"No. That, however, is a very long story, and I'm afraid that now is not the time." With that non-answer he began walking again, almost to the door now.

"Sir?"

"Yes, Harry?"

"How do I know that you're telling me the truth?"

"I beg your pardon?"

Harry was unable to keep the anger out of his voice. "All of this… even after what's happened, seems a little ridiculous, sir. About magic and everything. You… you _tricked_ me, you _attacked_ me. What reason do I have to trust you?"

There was a pause.

"You don't," Dumbledore said pleasantly. He closed the door behind him as he left, and though Harry checked it to be sure, he already knew it had been locked.

* * *

**AN:** Yes, I know all about blood-magic and why Harry had to stay with the Dursleys in canon. Yes, I have an explanation as to why Dumbledore is hand waving it. Yes, I have an explanation as to why Dumbledore and McGonagall and Hagrid are being so hostile. No, I don't care about flames. Constructive criticism only, my friends. And on that note, reviews would be great. :D


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